


Hot Mess

by TGP



Series: Eyesight [4]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: And no one deserves her, Cheating, D/H is past, Genderqueer!Harry, Ginny is a Queen, Minor Original Character(s), Multi, Not so healthy coping mechanisms, Panic Attack, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, pre-polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:39:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527574
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TGP/pseuds/TGP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry has his first panic attack since the war ended. And things kind of tumble out of control from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hot Mess

**Author's Note:**

> Polyamorous groups don't always fall together into wonderous seredipity. Sometimes you mess up first. 
> 
> Happens pre-kids, sometime after the war.

Harry is an adult now and he has the best friends anyone could ask for, a rival that sometimes smiles soft and sweet, and a girl he likes to kiss when she’s amiable. He’s got a tiny flat he shares with Ron and a good job and a good _life_ and the war is over and everyone is safe.   
  
Which is why he’s confused when he sees a bright green flash during auror training and finds himself stock still, unable to react. And abruptly, he’s not in the training field. There are trees surrounding him, impossibly high and dense and there is high pitched laughter in his ears and there is a deep, deep pain because he’s failed, he’s not good enough, and everyone is going to die-   
  
He jerks back when hands slam onto his cheeks hard and then he’s staring at Commander Sykes and sound is returning but it’s not the same, it's far away, except Sykes’ lips are moving and Harry can almost hear it, almost, but his mouth is dry and full of cotton and he can’t- say- _anything_ -   
  
Sykes slaps him. Hard.    
  
And then everything rushes back to him. Harry’s knees are weak. He falls to them, panting hard as his heart pounds in his chest, and it’s not like before, when he could just power through the panic, and he doesn’t understand _why not_ and he is so scared, he’s so scared and he can’t- he can’t think, he’s- he’s freaking out in front of the other recruits and what are they going to think of him, what if he gets kicked out and… and…   
  
Ron’s hands are familiar and when they drag Harry back up to his feet, he lets them and then he follows Ron off the training ground. Ron doesn’t say anything until they’re in the wash room and he’s gotten Harry sitting down. There’s a wet towel in his hand and Harry stays still as Ron wipes his face down and then his neck and then his hands because that’s all the skin Harry has free and Harry almost wishes he were naked so Ron could keep going.    
  
“You with me?” Ron asks, soft and hesitant. Harry swallows thick as he nods. He stares at Ron’s paler fingers on his knees and they feel so warm through his jeans. They feel real.    
  
Ron puts down the towel and smooths Harry’s dark hair from his face. “It’s okay. You’re okay, mate. So is everyone else. We’re here and alive and okay.”   
  
Harry doesn’t understand why that makes his chest clench up, why he needed to hear it so _badly_. And then he’s crying and buries his face against Ron’s shoulder but Ron just holds him. He pats his back and pets through his hair and keeps up the quiet, gentle comforts, even if they sound a little awkward from him.    
  
He doesn’t get it, but when Hermione gets there, he lets the two of them wrap him up in his heavy coat and follows them back to the flat. Hermione helps him strip out of his clothes and into pajamas. Her hands are so soft on his skin, so gentle against him, and he offers no resistance when she pulls him with her to the bed where Ron is waiting. Harry slides in between them. Ron is a firm presence against his back, long arms curled around his waist all secure and warm and strong, his body spooned against Harry’s. Hermione is soft and yielding against his front and the way their chests press, the way both sides give and fill in what little space is there, makes him feel so very secure as one hand pets through his hair, the other curled within his own.    
  
This is the feeling he’s always wanted, safe on all sides, but he’s still shaking and his heart is still pounding, and everything in him is telling him to run, run, run, _hide._ Hermione tries to talk him through breathing as Ron holds him, but he keeps losing focus of her voice, keeps getting drawn back into a laughing voice he hates so much.    
  
Hermione calls his name, tilts his head up, and then kisses him. She doesn’t give him the option of declining and he realizes that he wouldn’t want to anyway. Ron’s gone still behind him but Hermione’s licking into his mouth and it is real and wet and visceral and he can stay here. He can do this.    
  
Ron’s lips press to his neck, right under his ear, hesitant as his hands go flat against Harry’s belly and they are so warm even through his t-shirt. Warmer when they slip under it.   
  
Harry doesn’t give himself time to think. He tightens one hand in Hermione’s, curls the other over one of Ron’s.    
  
He lets it happen.   
  


* * *

  
  
When he asks them if it was a one-time thing, Hermione’s expression goes soft and mournful.   
  
“No. Probably not,” she says and Harry stares at her for a moment with a sudden spattering of butterflies in his belly and doesn’t realize she’s misunderstood him until she continues, “The war did a lot of damage, not all of it physical. You’re not the only person that’s suffering from panic attacks. There’s bound to be more, but it’s going to be okay.”   
  
He looks at Ron, who’s nodding, who’s not good at saying so but is trying to show he’s supportive, who also doesn’t get it.    
  
It... That wasn't... His stomach ties into knots. 

Harry doesn’t correct them.   
  
There are secrets Harry keeps because he is bound to do so. There are ones he keeps because he’s kind. Then, there are the ones he keeps because he is scared in ways he doesn’t like to think about.   
  
When Ginny gets back to England between away games and training, Harry visits her at the burrow and they have gentle, tender, fun sex in her room and he feels empty even though he loves her so very much and she should be all he needs. He hates himself for wanting more.    
  
As they lay together in the sheets, she asks if anything happened while she was gone. And he doesn’t mean to, but he tells her, “I slept with someone else.”   
  
She stares at him after the words come flooding out because he can’t just _not_ tell her, would be fair, wouldn’t be honorable- _ha_. He hates the way she looks like he's hit her.    
  
Ginny gets out of bed and dresses. When he sits up, she slaps him nearly hard enough to knock him down and her eyes are wet and furious. She says she thought being with another woman would cut out the two timing, that she expected better from _him_. She’s more disappointed than she is angry and that hurts more.    
  
“Get out,” she hisses at him.   
  
Harry dresses and goes to the door but he stops there. And then he says, “It’s not their fault.”   
  
“Then it must be _yours_.”   
  
She tells him not to come back and not to contact her and that she can’t stand the sight of him.   
  
He doesn’t blame her. He can’t really stand himself right now.    
  


* * *

  
  
A week later, Ron tentatively asks if he wants to talk about the breakup. This time Harry is able to keep his mouth shut.   
  


* * *

  
  
The second panic attack happens in the middle of Diagon Alley and he doesn’t know what triggered it and Madam Malkin’s assistant drags him into the back room so he can shake and sob and nibble chocolate out of the public eye.    
  
He goes back after a week to commission a ridiculously expensive set of dress robes as thanks. Then he tips nearly the same amount on top of it.    
  


* * *

  
  
He misses Ginny the worst when he’s curled up in his bed alone.    
  
He misses Hermione and Ron there, too.    
  


* * *

  
  
The third attack happens at home while Ron is out to dinner with Hermione and a car backfires outside and Harry thinks something exploded. He’s still curled up in the middle of his room when Ginny comes striding through the front door.   
  
“Harry, you better be home because it’s time to talk,” she calls but he’s too busy trying not to choke to answer her and then one of his hands curls over his mouth and he can’t pry it loose. It takes her a few minutes to check his room and another half one to see _him_ , and he doesn’t see her face, can’t the way his head is buried against his knees, but he hears her sudden intake of breath.    
  
She tries to ask him what’s wrong at first, then to tug him free of the ball he’s curled his body in, and finally she just sighs, drags the comforter off the bed, and curls it around them both. She slides up against his back and holds him to her chest.    
  
He doesn’t know how long it takes to unwind and he’s not exactly relaxed but Ginny doesn’t let go even after his breathing has settled and he’s not crying anymore.    
  
“Is this the first time?” she asks softly into the quiet of his room.   
  
“No.”   
  
She nods, accepting that, and her chin is resting on his shoulder, her soft hair brushing his ear. “After the diary… Sometimes I was… Well. I think you know.”   
  
He does. She breathes in deep and then lets it out in an explosive sigh as her arms tighten around him. He missed her so much, like this, or her in his arms, or their bodies pressed up together, or sometimes just petting her hair, he misses her so goddamn much.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he says finally. “For before. I…”   
  
“We need to talk about that,” she agrees.    
  
Harry closes his hands over hers, takes a breath, and then tells her about the first panic attack. She listens without saying a word, letting him pull everything free little by little until it’s all laid out before them and then he can’t stop, then he has to tell her _everything_ and it’s not just about that night, it’s about Ron and Hermione and how much he loves them and how much he needs them and how much he missed her and how he feels so very empty without them and how it didn’t mean anything to Hermione and Ron, the night they touched him and soothed him and saved him, how much he wanted it to even though it’s terrible and he shouldn’t need them because she’s enough, she’s more than enough, she’s _perfect-_   
  
And Ginny’s kissing him and he tastes salt because he’s crying _again_ , he’s so sick of this, but he slides his fingers into her hair and soon into _her_ and Ginny lets him and touches him back and it’s not as good as it could be, as it was before, all desperate and fearing need rather than passion, because he can’t concentrate, he’s so relieved that she still _wants_ him.    
  
Ginny tucks the comforter closer around them and nestles against his chest, using one of his breasts as her pillow. He’s still panting a little, his body warm and lazy in physical satisfaction.    
  
“I need to think about this,” she tells him at last. “Not about us, I think we’re okay.”   
  
Whatever hasn’t relaxed in him does so now and he nuzzles his cheek to her hair as she pets her fingers along the curve of his hip.    
  
“I think I understand,” she continues. “But seriously, cheat on me again and I’m going to blacken your eyes.”   
  
“I’d deserve it.”   
  
“Damn right you would.” She’s quiet against him, then adds, “If it was anyone other than them, I’d hate you.”   
  
Harry nods. “In the interests of full disclosure-”   
  
“Merlin, Potter, don’t you dare tell me you-”   
  
“No, no, no! I didn’t- with anyone else- I just-” He swallows because she’s dragged her head up to glare at him suspiciously and he just… “I just… I want it out now. Instead of later. I… You deserve to know.”   
  
Her lips press in a tight line. “Okay.”   
  
So he tells her about snogging Draco right after the war, in the night when they were both so deliriously happy to be alive and so relieved it was over. “The pain killers probably helped.”   
  
“So what you’re saying is both of you were completely stoned out of your minds.”   
  
Harry shrugs a bit. “Maybe. I just… We understood each other. And… He’s a total ponce, I’m not saying he’s not, but…”   
  
Ginny snorts and lays her head against his chest. “Well. Technically you had broken up with me then. Remind me to hit you if you ever break up with me for my own good again.”   
  
“…As opposed to breaking up because I deserve it?”   
  
“I will definitely break up with you if you deserve it.”    
  
For some reason, much as he hates the idea of ever losing her again, that’s kind of comforting.   
  
They eventually move to the bed and spend the night cuddling together. When Ron gets home, he barges in saying the beginning of some joke the waiter told them, and then he recoils with exaggerated gagging noises and Ginny just laughs at him, clear and bright and Harry…   
  
Harry is a little less lonely.

**Author's Note:**

> I tend to work on this story (and others) while I'm at work and post bits of it on http://tgp-the-loser.livejournal.com/ if anyone is interested in watching the story grow before it gets posted. Or just wants to ask questions or prompt anything. :)


End file.
